Shadow of Death
by TricksyHobbitses
Summary: Stearcwyn is finding herself more and more attracted to the mysterious Eomer of Edoras. When Beorn gives her the cryptic message warning her against this attraction, can she pull her heart away before it is too late? Slight AU
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Previously entitled The Beautiful Warrior. I decided this title is more intriguing. )**

A bright full moon shone out of an inky black sky, illuminating the rolling plains of the Westemnet, and the strawberry roan that grazed on them. The horse seemed to be unaware, or perhaps uncaring, of its rider. The rider was slumped over the saddle horn, their long, golden brown hair cascading down to completely cover their face. Although the face was covered, the hands could be seen clearly, palely reflecting the moonlight.

The peace of the night was shattered presently by the thundering of hooves. The roan glanced up for a moment, before looking back down, seemingly unfazed by this intrusion. This movement, however, caught the eye of the leader of this small band of cavalry.

"That way!" he called, pointing his spear in the direction of the grazing horse. The company directed their horses into a circle around the roan and its rider.

"Why, it's a girl!" one of the cavalrymen exclaimed, sounding surprised. And it was indeed.

The leader of the group slid from his horse, landing gracefully on the ground. He caught the reins of the roan and lifted up the hair of the girl, gasping at what he saw.

She was beautiful, her alabaster skin making a marked contrast against her honey hair and ruby lips. But, surprisingly, this was not the most remarkable thing about this lovely creature.

A long, ragged gash ran from her left shoulder to right above her right breast. Shockingly, she was still breathing. The blood had dried along the edges of the wound, as well as on the hair of her horse. Her eyes fluttered open as the man slid her out of her saddle.

"Can you hear me?" he asked the girl gently, sweeping her soft curls out of her face.

"Yes," she whispered. In that one word, he could hear that her voice was low and musical.

"What is your name?" he inquired, simply to keep her talking.

"Stearcwyn." _Strong woman,_ he thought with a smile.

"Stearcwyn, my name is Eomér. I am going to try and save you, alright?" Stearcwyn simply nodded, her amber eyes fluttering closed. "What happened to you?"

"Wildmen," she groaned, her face twisting in pain. Eomér's face set into a grim expression as he carried Stearcwyn to his horse. "Take care of her horse," he instructed one of his men, who nodded and grabbed the reins. Eomér gestured to another rider, who dismounted and gently took Stearcwyn from Eomér. When Eomér had mounted his horse again, the man handed Stearcwyn to him, marveling at how slight the girl was.

"We will take her to the river," Eomér commanded, then turned his attention to the wounded girl in his arms. "Stay awake, Stearcwyn," he pleaded.

"I am awake," she murmured, gaining a small smile from her rescuer.

"Were you traveling alone?"

"No." Her voice was fading each time she spoke. Eomér looked up anxiously, pleased to see that they were only about one hundred yards from the river.

"What happened to your companions?"

"Not...traveling," she moaned, her voice fading, and then groaned in pain as her chest heaved.

"We are almost there, Stearcwyn. Stay awake."

"Alright," she mumbled, opening her eyes against to look up at him.

It took only a matter of minutes to get to the river. Eomér slid off of his horse, then reached up quickly to take Stearcwyn down.

"I am going to have to see the whole cut, Stearcwyn," he said gently as he laid her on the ground. She nodded and reached up with shaking hands to undo the tie at the back of her neck. She pulled the top of her dress down, low enough so he could attend to the wound, but not low enough to compromise her modesty.

Eomér drew in a sharp breath as he saw the full extent of the damage.

The cut was deep and vicious; the edges of it stained deep red, with more more thick red blood oozing out to stain her already soaked dress. Eomér shifted his horrified gaze from the wound to Stearcwyn's eyes, which were full of pain. He stood up and looked around for a rag or bit of cloth. Hearing a tearing sound, he looked sharply back at Stearcwyn. Without a word, she held out a strip of brown cloth, torn from the bottom of her dress. Taking the cloth, Eomér went to the river and dipped it in, wringing it out before going back to Stearcwyn's side.

"What happened to you?" he whispered again.

Taking a shallow, ragged breath, she began. "I live...lived..." she took another breath, this one even shallower. "I lived in a...a tiny village at...at the bend...where the River Entwash meets the River Snowbourn..." She hissed in pain as Eomér pressed the wet cloth to her wound.

"I am sorry," he amended quickly, "but it must be done."

Nodding weakly, she took another shallow breath before continuing. "My...my father is...was...the chief...He tried...to get us...to safety...but the...the wildmen...they came too...too suddenly... " Stearcwyn's breath was growing more and more ragged. Eomér threw a concerned look in the direction of her face, but her eyes were focused on the distance, as if seeing the scene replay before her. "We...did not stand...a chance...There were...too many...my brother...he made me leave...on my horse...to try and...get away...but I was not...not fast enough...one of them..." she stopped abruptly, taking a shaky breath.

"You should rest," Eomér said anxiously. "Finish telling me later."

She seemed not to hear him. "One of them swung...his sword...It hit me..." Her eyes slid down to the gash which Eomér was tending to so gently. "I do not...remember much...after that...only that you...that you saved me." She looked up into his eyes, gratitude filling hers.

"I am sorry," he said quietly as he applied a thick, sticky paste to the cut. "Were there any survivors besides yourself?"

"I do not...think so." A sob escaped Stearcwyn's lips, and she cried out as this made her chest heave, stretching her wound.

"Easy now," he said, laying a tender hand on her shoulder. "Will someone please bring me bandages?" he called into the camp, and one man came hurrying up, almost as if he had been waiting for the call, three fresh bandages in his hands. "You are lucky to be alive," Eomér said softly as he helped her to sit up.

"Thank...you," Stearcwyn murmured, before falling into silence. As Eomér tended to her cut, she studied his face.

He was handsome, she decided, and perhaps seven years older than herself. His should length, dirty-blonde hair was held back out of his eyes, which were a clear, warm blue.

"Is she alright?" The voice came from out of Stearcwyn's sight, and it was full of concern.

"She will live, yes, but she will have the scar forever." Stearcwyn heard the man's footsteps retreat. "Set up an extra tent for the lady," Eomér called. By this time, Eomér had finished dressing her cut. "Can you stand?" he asked gently. Stearcwyn pushed herself up on her elbows, but fell back immediately when this twisted the cut. Without a word, Eomér slid one arm under her head, and the other under the crook of her knees, and picked her up without any hesitation. When they reached the recently constructed tent, Eomér moved the door aside with his foot. Stepping in, he looked around for the bed, laying her gently down on it when he found it. "I will be right back," he whispered, and left the tent. He came back a moment later, a clean brown tunic in his hands. "Here, let me help you put this on." He knelt beside the low bed, putting his arm behind Stearcwyn's back to help her sit up. With his free hand, he pulled the tunic over her head. When this was done, he laid her back on the bed, and she pulled the tunic the rest of the way down.

"Thank you," she murmured, already drifting to sleep.

"You are welcome," he said softly, turning to leave. As he held the door open, he glanced back into the tent, smiling slightly when he saw that she was already fast asleep.

oOoOo

The next morning dawned clear and bright. Stearcwyn awoke as the sun filtered through the rough fabric of the tent. For a moment, she was confused as to where she was, but the pain in her chest quickly reminded her. She sat up gingerly, wincing only slightly, and then stood up, walking a few steps to see how it felt. She was a bit dizzy from loss of blood, but her steps grew steadier as she walked to the door of the tent. She slid her feet into her boots, which were set by the door. It took her a moment to realize that she had not taken her boots off the night before, nor had she been covered when she fell asleep, yet she had woken up both de-shoed and covered in a blanket. Still puzzling over this, she stepped out of her tent.

"Good morning, Stearcwyn." This warm, quiet greeting was given her by Eomér, who sat by the last dying embers of the previous night's fire.

"Good morning," she replied in her musical voice. "Did you...did you take my boots off last night?"

"Yes, I did," he answered simply. "It was quite cold, so I went in to make sure you had enough blankets, and I noticed that your boots were still on."

Stearcwyn was touched by his kindness. "Thank you," she said softly, sitting down on the log next to him.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better. You will never know exactly how grateful I am that you saved me." She smiled at him.

_And I as well, _he thought, but aloud he said, "Would you like some porridge?" Stearcwyn nodded, and he handed her an already-filled bowl, and a spoon. Stearcwyn took a bite, grateful for the warmth that spread down her throat and into her stomach. She finished her porridge quickly, then helped as best she could to take down the camp.

While they were doing this, Stearcwyn noticed that her wound was not hurting nearly as much as it should have been. "What was in that poultice? My cut does not hurt like I would have expected it to."

"Ah," he smiled, stopping in the middle of taking down a tent and looking up at her. "It was a sort of...magic-infused mixture. I recieved it from Gandalf, long ago."

Stearcwyn was somewhat touched by this. "Why did you use it on me?" she asked. "Should you not have saved it for more serious matters?"

"Such as what?"

"Such as if one of your men was injured." She looked down at her hands. "I am sure that one of your warriors is more important that I."

"Do not speak such things," he said softly, and she looked up. He stepped a bit closer, but not close enough that they were touching.

"But your warriors can fight," she protested. "They could help you to save Rohan."

"So could you," he said quietly. Before she could ask what he meant, however, he had turned away to finish taking down the tent.

oOoOo

"Do you have a sword?" Eomér asked after they had struck the camp.

"I did, but I must have dropped it, after the attack." A frown flitted across her face.

"We do not have any spare swords at the moment, but as soon as we can, we will get you one. It is not safe without one."

"Not that it did me much good when I had one," she muttered bitterly. He laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder, then removed to beckon her to follow him. She did this, and he led her to where the horses were picketed. He detached one horse from the group, and led it to where Stearcwyn stood. She gasped in delight and stroked the animal's mane when she saw who it was. "Good," she sighed, kissing the horse's soft muzzle. "I was afraid that she had gotten hurt." The blood was gone from the animal's coat, leaving it as silken and smooth as if she had never been dirty.

"She is a beautiful horse." At these words, Stearcwyn chuckled slightly, as if he had told a joke. "What is her name?"

"Leoht," she said softly, glancing over to see the look on his face.

"Ah, so she _is_ a beautiful animal," he laughed as well.

"Thank you for taking care of both of us." Stearcwyn met Eomér's eyes shyly, and Eomér held her gaze for a moment before looking away, a strange look in his eyes.

"We must go now," he said quietly, then raised his voice to be heard by the men. "We leave now!" he called, and all of the men hurried to get to their horses, which were loaded with the tents and provisions. Stearcwyn looked at Eomér a moment more, confused, before swinging her leg up into her stirrups, lifting her arms up to grab Leoht's reins. It happened very quickly then, and she was not entirely sure what it was that was happening.

As she lifted her arms up, a searing, tearing pain went through her chest. She must have cried out, for she heard several of the men shout, and she heard the steely hiss of swords being drawn. She felt herself topple out of the stirrup, heading for the ground, and then everything went dark, and she heard no more.

oOoOo

When she woke up, she was on a horse, in front of something very solid and warm. She stirred slightly, and the something she was in front of moved in response.

"Are you all right?" The voice was full of concern, and slightly familiar, but she could not place it.

"I do not know," she said truthfully, moving her head to look at the man behind her. The man chuckled quietly as she shifted to a more upright position.

"My name is Beorn," he introduced himself.

"Beorn," she whispered. "Warrior. Are you?" she asked a bit louder.

"I would like to think so." He chuckled again. Stearcwyn turned her head to scrutinize the man. He was handsome, this was certain, but in a different way from Eomér. In looks, the two men were complete opposites. While Eomér's hair was straight and blonde, Beorn had curly black hair the color of midnight, which fell to gently brush his collar. His eyes were a deep brown, almost black, and they seemed to be fathomless. He glanced down at her face, seeming to sense that she was studying him. Blushing a deep crimson, Stearcwyn turned her head to look out at the hills of the Westemnet.

**A/N: Name Meanings:**

**Stearcwyn - Strong Woman (Thank you to WendWriter for finding it for me!!!)**

**Beorn - Warrior**

**Leoht - Beautiful**


	2. Chapter 2

They had been riding for two days before Stearcwyn asked something that had been bothering her since she had first met Eomér.

"Beorn?" she asked timidly, turning her head to look up at him.

"Hm?" he murmured, looking down at her. His gaze flustered her, and she assembled her thoughts with difficulty.

"Why...why are you," she gestured to Beorn and the rest of the cavalry, "out here?" She swept her arm to indicate the rolling, grass covered hills.

"Well..." he said slowly, looking out at the plains. He seemed to choose his words carefully before speaking. "We are from Edoras, the capital. The king...he has not...been well." He seemed to be struggling for the right words to say. "He does not know what is going on around him, and his assistant, Grima," he said the name with obvious distaste, "has been in charge of running things, since the king cannot. He is...manipulative. Eomér is loyal to the king, and we are loyal to Eomér, so when Eomér was banished by Grima, we went with him."

"Ah," she said. The word was not satisfactory to how she took this information, but she could think of nothing else to say. "I am sorry."

"Do not worry." Eomér's voice came from behind them, startling Stearcwyn. She blushed and looked out at the plain. "How are you healing?" Eomér asked her kindly.

"Very well, thank you." The blush was fading slowly from her cheeks, but she dared not look at him.

"That is good," he said quietly, resting a hand on her arm before spurring his horse to the head of the column. Stearcwyn stared after him wistfully.

"You like him, do you not?" Beorn's soft, deep voice asked quietly in her ear.

"He has been very kind to me," she mumbled.

"That is not what I mean." He sounded amused. "Do not set your heart after him." The amusement was gone, to be replaced by a more serious tone.

"What?" she asked, partly from embarrassment and partly from genuine confusion.

"It would not be wise." He did not get to elaborate further, however, as Eomér had stopped the column with a single command.

"What is it?" Stearcwyn asked, struggling to see around the many riders in front of her.

"I do not know," Beorn replied, also trying to see Eomér. He urged his horse forward, but was only able to go a few feet before being stopped by the mass of horses and riders.

"You are needed, Eomér." The voice traveled down the column, carried through the still air to reach Stearcwyn's ear. She did not know who the speaker was, but the voice, she could tell, belonged to someone who demanded respect. "Your uncle is well again, and he needs you to fight with him."

The whole column seemed to wait with baited breath for Eomér's reply. "We will fight," he said finally, and a relieved sigh went through the men.

"I am going to fight," Stearcwyn said quietly.

"No!" Beorn's voice was sharp. "You cannot. Not with your wound."

"You cannot stop me," she replied serenely. "I am going to fight." Beorn looked like he wished to argue, but he did not, instead lapsing into silence, a dark look on his face.

oOoOo

They rode for three days without stopping. During this time, Stearcwyn would twist in the saddle to test her wound. Each time she did this it would send her spiraling towards darkness, but Beorn's soothing voice brought her back every time. On the fourth day, they came within sight of Helm's Deep, and the black blanket of orcs on the field in front of it told them that the war had already started.

"There are a lot of orcs," Stearcwyn whispered, staring at the horror before them. Though they were not close enough to hear distinctly, the faint sounds of screams reached their ears. "I am going to fight," she said quietly, turning to Beorn, looking him right in the eye. He stared at her in disbelief for a moment, but his expression grew grim when he realized that she was determined.

"I cannot let you." Stearcwyn looked like she was about to argue, but he cut her off. "With your wound, it would not be more than half a minute before you were overpowered." Stearcwyn sought for an argument. When she found none, she simply scowled darkly, nodding once, curtly, before resolutely averting her eyes. "Good." Beorn slid from his horse, easing her down gently after him. "You will take Leoht, and ride to Edoras." Stearcwyn nodded again, tears of anger and frustration threatening to spill over her cheeks. Eomér had, by this time, given the signal, and the Eored, minus Beorn, had begun to ride over the hill, and into battle. Beorn gave Stearcwyn one last, stern look before mounting his horse, then he too rode to fight. As he was turning his horse, however, Stearcwyn grabbed the extra sword that was belted at his waist. He shouted after her as she ran as fast as she could, with her wound, to where Leoht stood waiting for her. She swung herself into the saddle, not an easy task when she was wincing, grimacing, and nearly doubled over in pain. But she spurred Leoht forward nonetheless, ignoring, as best she could, the agonizing pain that shot through her chest. As Leoht gained speed, and they crested the hill, Stearcwyn saw, for the first time, the full extent of the battle.

The orcs covered the field, so many of them that Stearcwyn could not see the ground. There were bodies everywhere, she could tell, but she did not have time to register more before she plunged into the battle head-on. She felt a surge of very powerful emotion run through her body; a terrible mixture of fear, agony, and overpowering anger. _I will kill them all,_ she thought bitterly as she lunged Leoht into the fray. _They are not the wildmen, but they will die._ With this horrible thought in mind, Stearcwyn lashed out with the sword, ignoring the pain that pierced her chest.

Leoht lunged forward, urged on by Stearcwyn, when her hoof slipped on the helmet of a fallen orc. The horse stumbled, her legs flailing as she tried to gain her footing. Seeing that she was at a disadvantage, an orc wielding an ugly, hooked sword lunged at the horse, seeming to ignore Stearcwyn as he slashed at Leoht's chest. The hook of the sword connected with Leoht's skin, and the horse screamed once before falling, lifeless, to the ground. Stearcwyn tumbled off, rolling quickly to her feet. She knew she was in severe danger on the ground, but there was nothing she could do but keep fighting. She swung her sword viciously, hacking through each orc that came within her reach. Feeling a touch on her shoulder, she whipped around sharply, sword raised, but it was Eomér, holding out his hand to her. She grabbed the offered hand gratefully, and he swung her up to sit behind him on his saddle.

She swung her sword from her perch behind Eomér, clinging to his waist with her left hand. Had she not been so preoccupied, she would have marveled at this new, wonderful situation.

The battle seemed to be over as quickly as it had begun. The orcs, who had, before, seemed so terrifying, were running for their lives, dashing over the hill that the Rohirim, plus Stearcwyn, had just come over. The Eored chased them, yelling their victory, but stopped at the sight before them.

Where there had once been gently rolling hills of grass, there was now a dense forest of tall trees, stretching on as far as Stearcwyn could see. The orcs did not seem to notice this, for they ran, without pausing, straight into the trees.

"Stay back!" Eomér called urgently, holding his hand out to halt the men that rode behind them. "Stay away from the trees!" Stearcwyn gripped Eomér's waist tightly as an arrow of pain lanced through her chest. "Are you alright?" he asked in concern, twisting in his saddle to look at her face.

"No," she gasped, now almost doubled over from the agony. Looking down at where the gash was, her mind was too muddled in a fog of pain to be startled to see a thick line of blood spreading through the fabric of her borrowed tunic.

"Come," he said briskly, turning his horse to face Helm's Deep. "We will get you some help." He rode his horse back to the fortress, glancing frequently and anxiously back over his shoulder at Stearcwyn, whose face was rapidly losing all of its already pale colour. When they rode through the great stone gates, a tall, blonde woman ran towards them.

"Eomér!" she cried in relief. Then a look of confusion passed over her face when she spotted Stearcwyn. "But who is this?"

"This, Éowyn," he said, sliding down from his horse, "is Stearcwyn. She needs your assistance." He reached up to take Stearcwyn from his saddle, cradling her in his arms like a child. Éowyn nodded and led him to where a makeshift medical station had been set up. Eomér laid Stearcwyn down on the ground, then stepped back so that Éowyn could work on her. Éowyn pulled down the top of Stearcwyn's bloodstained tunic, her solemn expression sobering further when she saw the cut.

"We cannot treat this here," she said, standing up again. "There is not enough medication or bandages. She must be taken back to Edoras." Eomér nodded and picked Stearcwyn back up. "We must leave immediately." Eomér carried Stearcwyn back to his horse, and Éowyn mounted her horse as well, who had happened to be near the medical station. Eomér manages to get both himself and Stearcwyn up onto his horse with minimal damage to either, and he spurred his horse into motion.


	3. Chapter 3

They arrived at Edoras nearly a day later. Eomér immediately slid off of his horse, reaching up to bring Stearcwyn down with him. He carried her to where Éowyn led him, which was down a corridor leading away from the Great Hall. Eomér laid her down on the soft bed, then shooed Eomér away so that she could get to work. Her expression was grim when she saw the wound again, and heard the other woman's shallow breathing.

"Just stay awake, Stearcwyn," she said as she dipped a clean cloth in the bowl of water next to the bed. Stearcwyn could manage nothing but a nod.

Éowyn tended to Stearcwyn diligently for the next several hours, stitching the edges of her wound together, applying healing poultices, and holding her hand when she cried out in pain. When morning's light streamed through the window, Stearcwyn's eyes fluttered open. At first, she could not recall where she was, or who the woman sleeping in the chair next to her bed was. But as she struggled to sit up, the tugging pain in her chest brought everything crashing down upon her. Even though she tried to muffle her slight gasp, Éowyn still heard it, and woke with a start.

"Are you alright?" she asked anxiously, her hands fluttering towards Stearcwyn's wound.

"I am fine," Stearcwyn replied, pushing herself up further, grimacing only slightly. Éowyn said nothing, but her look was doubtful.

"How did you get that?" she asked suddenly. "Eomér told me what you told him, but it did not make sense. How could a wildman, on foot, reach you if you were on your horse? The swords they use are not long enough."

"How do you know Eomér?" Stearcwyn asked.

"He is my brother." Éowyn sounded impatient. "Do not try to distract me. How did you get that?"

Stearcwyn looked away from Éowyn's piercing, questioning stare. Finally, after several moments, she took a deep breath and looked back at her.

"In my village, there is a special kind of sword that we use. No other village makes it. The blade is straight for perhaps two feet, then it curves for six inches, making it a very formidable weapon." She grimaced again as she thought of the vicious sword. "The women of my village are brave." It seemed that she had changed topic, and Éowyn was about but comment on this, but Stearcwyn plunged on. "We do not run from battle. But my father told me, when the wildmen came, to go warn the other villages about the attack, so they would not suffer our fate. I got on the horse, but my brother grabbed her reins and stopped her." Stearcwyn's eyes seemed to be focused on something miles away. "We argued. He called me a coward for leaving. He would not listen when I told him that our father had ordered me to leave. He...he did this," she gestured to the wound on her chest, "with his sword. He let Leoht's reins go then. I rode until I could focus no more. The next thing I remember is your brother taking me off of Leoht's saddle."

"Why did you not tell him this before?" Éowyn asked, her voice full of concern for Stearcwyn, and hatred for the man who had done this to her.

Stearcwyn merely shrugged with some difficulty. She tried to swing her legs out of bed, but Éowyn gently put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her back down.

"No. You need to rest. You may get out of bed in three days, but I will help you." Stearcwyn decided that it was easier not to argue, so she simply nodded. Éowyn nodded in return and stood up to leave. When she paused at the door to look back, Stearcwyn was already fast asleep. Éowyn smiled gently and closed the door quietly behind her. When she stepped out into the hall, she was met by Eomér and Beorn, and both of them had concerned looks on their faces.

"Is she alright?" Eomér asked anxiously.

"She will live." Éowyn gave her brother a shrewd, calculating look. "Will you excuse us?" she asked Beorn politely. He nodded and, with a respectful half bow to Éowyn, departed back the way he had came. "What are you doing Eomér?" Éowyn demanded as soon as Beorn was out of hearing.

"I am merely concerned for her well being." Éowyn was not convinced.

"You know very well that you can not get involved with her." Éowyn's tone was severe, but it softened somewhat when she saw Eomér's look that was very close to misery. "I do not want to see you, or Stearcwyn, hurt." She laid a tender hand on her brother's cheek, then swept away, leaving Eomér behind her. Eomér looked after her, knowing that she was right.

oOoOo

Three days later, Éowyn allowed her patient to get out of bed. Stearcwyn wobbled unsteadily for a moment while the blood rushed back to her legs. Éowyn helped her to dress, letting her borrow a rich brown dress with a gold sash. When she was done dressing her, Éowyn stepped back, smiling and nodding in satisfaction. The dress suited Stearcwyn perfectly, making her skin seem darker, and her hair and eyes richer in color. Éowyn led Stearcwyn to the Great Hall, where Stearcwyn ate her fill; which was quite a bit, since she hadn't eaten in nearly three days. As she was just about to finish, Eomér, along with Gandalf, Beorn, and several others that Stearcwyn didn't recognize, entered the Hall.

"...with haste," Gandalf was saying as his voice reached Stearcwyn's ears. "You must come with us in case of trouble." Whatever he had been saying, Eomér seemed to agree, for he nodded. As he was nodding, his eyes lit upon Stearcwyn, and he stopped, his eyes wide, and looked at her. Stearcwyn blushed and looked down at her lap. When she looked up again, she was disappointed to see that Eomér and his group were gone.

oOoOo

It was nearly a week before the group returned. With them were two Halflings whom Stearcwyn had never seen before. On the night of their return, a huge feast was held, in honor of the warriors whose lives had been lost at Helm's Deep.

It was a merry affair, despite its sad cause, and Stearcwyn found herself smiling and laughing for the first time in several days. The people here were very accepting of her, she soon came to realize. Though she knew none of them save Éowyn, Beorn, and Eomér, everyone welcomed her with open arms, talking to her and laughing with her as if they had known her from infancy. She wandered among them, but soon the closeness of the crowd overwhelmed her, and she excused herself from her current conversation to step outside. She had been out for not but a moment when she heard her name being called. Turning, she smiled when she saw it was Éowyn.

"There you are." The woman sounded slightly breathless from pushing through the crowd.

"I just came out for a bit of air."

"Yes, it is rather crowded in there, isn't it?" Éowyn laughed. "Come, I have something to show you." She led Stearcwyn to the stables, where, in the second stall from the back, a magnificent black stallion stood, prancing in place as if he were on show.

"He is beautiful!" Stearcwyn exclaimed, rubbing her palm up and down the horse's muzzle. "What is his name?"

"He is called Indryhten." Éowyn looked over at her new friend, smiling at the younger woman's expression of pleasure. "He is yours." Stearcwyn looked over sharply. Éowyn laughed again. "Eomér told me of your horse, and how she...passed. Indryhten's rider has grown too old too be able to run him, and Indryhten grows restless when he is kept in the stable for too long." Stearcwyn began to protest, but Éowyn held up her hand. "He is yours," she said with finality. Overcome with gratitude, Stearcwyn hugged Éowyn around the neck. Éowyn merely laughed. "I will leave you two to get better acquainted." Without another word, she left the stable. Stearcwyn, still smiling, rubbed Indryhten's velvety nose, giggling when he blew a warm breath into her face.

"You _are_ a very noble creature, Indryhten," she whispered. He nickered softly in return. "I think you and I will get along fabulously."

"He is a lovely horse." The voice from the stable barn startled her, and she whipped around. Indryhten whinnied anxiously. "I am sorry," the man said, sounding contrite. "I did not mean to frighten you." Eomér stepped out of the shadows and Stearcwyn smiled again, her heart beating faster, but for a reason much different from fear.

"I was simply startled," she replied quietly, turning back to sooth Indryhten, who was still prancing nervously. She felt, rather than heard, Eomér come up to stand behind her, and she felt her body tense in response. "Yes," she said in answer to his opening statement. "He is a lovely horse. Your sister gave him to me."

"What is he called?"

"Indryhten." Eomér smiled and stepped closer to stroke the large horse on the shoulder. Stearcwyn was beginning to feel out of breath with their close proximity. When she turned slightly to scratch Indryhten's ear, her shoulder brushed against his, and she jerked away quickly, her face flaming at her reaction. But, when his hand brushed her own, and he did not make any move to change the situation, she found herself turning towards him.

"Stearcwyn," he whispered, leaning in slightly. She could not help it; when she heard her name on his lips, she closed the gap between them, and met those lips with her own. She felt him tense in surprise, and pulled away, startled at her own audacity.

"I am sorry," she stammered, turning away from him to hide her red cheeks. But he did not answer. Instead, he turned her around gently by the arms, and brought his lips to hers again. The kiss was passionate, yet sweet, and, even though Stearcwyn had never been kissed in more than just child's games, she knew that this one was wonderful. The heat radiating between their two bodies told her as much, as well as the way her hands automatically brought themselves to wrap around his neck, and his hands went up to tangle in her long hair.

"Stearcwyn," he said breathily, pulling away from her lips for a moment before kissing her again. "We cannot do this." But the heated kisses between his words belied this statement.

"Why not?" she breathed, parting her lips against his.

"I..." he kissed her jaw line, "I am engaged to be married."

**A/N: I don't know if Lothiriel and Eomer actually _were _betrothed at this point, but for my purposes, they are. I'm sorry if that conflicts with the facts from the books, but this is the way it needs to be for my story to work.**

**Also, _Indryhten_ means _noble_. Just so you know.**


	4. Chapter 4

Stearcwyn pulled away from Eomér sharply, yanking out of his embrace. "What do you mean?" she demanded, staring at him in shock.

"I am to be married to the Lady Lothíriel in one year's time." Stearcwyn felt hot tears of anger and shame prick her eyelids.

"Why did you kiss me then?" she asked fiercely. "Why did you not leave?"

"Stearcwyn," he said in a soothing voice, reaching out to her. She did not give him a chance to say anything further, however. She whipped around and ran out of the stable, not stopping until she had reached the safe seclusion of an overhanging that was attached to the Hall. Wrapping her arms around her torso to protect herself, she sank down against the wall, muffling her sobs against her folded arms so that no one would find her. This was in vain, however, for she had not been there for five minutes before Éowyn discovered her.

"Stearcwyn?" she asked in alarm, rushing to kneel down beside the younger woman. "What is it?"

"He is engaged," she hiccupped. Éowyn did not need to ask who she meant.

"What happened?" she asked with growing dread. Stearcwyn shook her head. Éowyn, knowing that she would get nothing further, gathered Stearcwyn in her arms, stroking her hair as she cried pitifully.

oOoOo

When the call for war came a week later, Stearcwyn knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what she was going to do. She did not bother to be granted permission, for she knew that not one person who could give her such permission would do so. Instead, while the rest of Edoras slept, she snuck into the armory, being careful not to make any noise. She selected her sword and armor with care, making certain that she chose from the back of the room, as these were most likely the ones that were least used. When this was done, she stole back out, down the hall, and out the small side door. She went to the stables, not bothering with stealth anymore, as there was no one around to see her. She patted Indryhten briefly when he whinnied curiously, but she did not have time for further affection at the moment. She rearranged the straw at the back of the stall, clearing a space, which she filled with the pilfered armor and sword. When this was done, she covered them back up with the straw, stepping back to make sure that it was all hidden. Satisfied, she went back to her room in the Hall, sleeping dreamlessly until dawn, when Éowyn came to her room to wake her.

"Stearcwyn, will you accompany us to the camp?" There was something in Éowyn's tone that warned Stearcwyn that something was amiss.

"You are not only going to the camp, are you?" Stearcwyn asked shrewdly. Éowyn turned crimson, but she did not deny it. "I am going, as well," Stearcwyn said quietly. Éowyn said nothing, simply looking at her knowingly. After a moment, she nodded and stood up, leaving the room so Stearcwyn could dress for the journey to the camp. Stearcwyn dressed quickly, hurrying into a simple brown dress that was cut comfortably for long horse rides. When she was done dressing, she stepped out into corridor, hurrying to the hall to find Éowyn. When she turned the corner, however, it was not Éowyn she found, but Eomér standing there as if he were waiting for her.

"Stearcwyn, please wait," he begged when she changed her direction to go around him. He reached out to grab her arm, but she shrugged away from his grasp. "Wait," he commanded, and she stopped abruptly. When she turned to face him, her expression was remote, cold, and calculating.

"Yes my lord?" she asked icily. Eomér winced at her tone.

"Please, just talk to me."

"About what?" she demanded, her icy façade breaking. "About how you kissed me back, even when you knew you should not? About how you br-" But she stopped before she finished her sentence, the look on her face something between pain, embarrassment, and deep loathing. "No, my lord," she said, the frost back in her voice. "We have nothing to talk about." Without another word she swept off towards the doors of the hall and out into the cool morning air. Eomér stared after her, feeling a great sense of loss and defeat.

oOoOo

The war camp was set in the White Mountains, the path winding steeply to come out at a plateau high in the peaks. Warriors from all over Rohan had converged at Dunharrow, the many colorful banners and pennons filling the cool air with the cheerful sound of their snapping and unfurling in the brisk breeze.

Stearcwyn steered Indryhten through the tents, following the men from Edoras to the upper part of the camp. She was not devoting her whole attention to the task of horse riding, so it was to her benefit that Éowyn was riding next to her. Éowyn could not help but notice that her friend was distant, and she did not have to ask to know what she was thinking about.

"How did he meet her?" Stearcwyn asked suddenly, starting Éowyn.

"Excuse me?"

"Eomér. How did he meet his...Lothíriel?" A flicker of pain flashed through her eyes as she said that lady's name.

"Eomér had been sent to Gondor by our uncle, and Lothíriel was there with her father, Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth. They met while Eomér was arriving, and negotiations for their marriage began soon afterwards." Éowyn looked at her friend sharply. "Why do you ask?"

"I was simply wondering if her rescued her, as well, and tricked her into loving him." Stearcwyn's face was passive, but her eyes flashed with bitterness and resentment.

"He did nothing of the kind," Éowyn argued. "It is not his fault that you fell in love with him." Stearcwyn's face grew stricken, as if Éowyn had betrayed her.

"I know," she choked softly, tears welling up in her golden-brown eyes. "It is just so much easier to blame him." Éowyn nudged her horse closer to Stearcwyn's and laid a reassuring hand on her arm. Stearcwyn looked up gratefully, and then lapsed into a troubled silence.


	5. Chapter 5

Stearcwyn stood at the edge of the cliff, hugging herself tightly against the biting chill of the wind. The camp below still teemed with life, even though the upper camp had fallen mostly quiet. Hearing soft footsteps behind her, she glanced back, and then whipped back around and hugged herself tighter when she saw who it was.

"Stearcwyn," Eomér pleaded, laying a hand on her arm. "Please, talk to me."

"I will listen, my lord, if you wish to speak." Her tone was distant, but he could hear a strong undercurrent of pain and anger.

"Stearcwyn," he said again, removing his hand to stand in front of her. "I never meant it to go that far." Stearcwyn's eyes hardened. "I care for you, very deeply, but I love Lothíriel. You must understand."

"Why did you do it then?" Her voice was flat, emotionless, and she did not meet his eye.

"I...I was caught in the moment." He knew it was paltry excuse at best, but he could not explain why he had betrayed Lothíriel, and Stearcwyn. "Please Stearcwyn," he begged, taking one arm in each hand. "Please forgive me." She finally shifted her gaze to his, and his eyes were so open, honest and pleading that she could not help but lower her guard. Her eyes softened until they were once again warm and glowing, and she even managed a slight, sad, heartbroken smile.

"I forgive you," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears despite herself. "Please, marry with a free conscience, and my blessings."

Eomér smiled and took one of her small hands in both of his large, calloused ones. Kissing it tenderly, he smiled at her, squeezed her hand, and walked away, back towards camp.

Stearcwyn watched him go, feeling a small bit of herself go with him. She turned back to look over the edge of the cliff, the tears that had been building finally spilling over her cheeks.

"Stearcwyn?" This voice, soft, low, and warm, was very familiar, and Stearcwyn felt an unexplainable fluttering sensation deep in the pit of her stomach as Beorn laid a hand on her shoulder. "Are you all right?" He sounded concerned.

"Yes," she said softly. She crossed her arms in front of her chest as Beorn came to stand right by her, so close that he was almost touching her. "I will be fine."

oOoOo

The next night, Éowyn came bursting in to the tent they shared, sobbing so hard that she could barely breath.

"Éowyn!" she exclaimed, jumping up from her cot and wrapping her arms around Éowyn's shoulders. "What is it? Come, let's sit." She led the distraught woman to her cot, sitting her down gently, rubbing her back. "Tell me, what happened?"

"H-he d-does not l-love m-me!" she cried, burying her face in her hands.

"Who?" Stearcwyn asked, utterly bewildered.

"Lord Aragorn!" Éowyn buried her face in Stearcwyn's shoulder.

"Lord Aragorn?" Stearcwyn repeated, flabbergasted. "You love him?"

"Y-yes," she blubbered.

"He is in love with an elf maid," Stearcwyn whispered, stroking Éowyn's hair. "Arwen Undomíel, of Rivendell."

Éowyn said nothing, merely cried harder as Stearcwyn did her best to comfort her grieving friend, as she had comforted her.

oOoOo

They began to prepare to depart shortly after dawn the next day, and the camp was filled with the sounds of tents being struck down and packed, and men shouting back and forth to one another. Stearcwyn and Éowyn were both very quiet as they prepared to leave. They donned the armor that they each had pilfered from the armory, helping each other with the tough leather fastenings that ran up each side. It felt very strange to Stearcwyn to be in men's trousers, but Éowyn seemed perfectly at ease in them. She was still very solemn and rather moody from the night before, but she seemed to be set on going to battle.

"You do not have to come with me," Éowyn said quietly, the first time either of them had spoken since the night before.

"I am not coming with you," Stearcwyn replied just as softly. "I go for my own purposes."

Éowyn nodded, not pressing it any further, and continued her preparations, strapping the sword, in its scabbard, to her back. When they were both finished dressing, they worked together to take down their tent, packing it tightly into a bundle and throwing it into the pile that was quickly growing larger, since they could bring nothing but themselves and their weapons with them.

"Come," Éowyn said, and, with a look over her shoulder to make certain no one was looking, led Stearcwyn to where their horses were picketed. The men were all mounting their horses, so no one paid them the least bit of attention as they saddled their horses and mounted, riding off quickly before anyone could notice what they were doing. On the way down to the lower camp, Stearcwyn noticed that one of the Halflings was standing just off the path, dressed in full armor, looking very forlorn. Stearcwyn pointed this out to Éowyn, who, in turn, reached down and snatched him up. A huge grin split his face when he realized that he was to get his chance to fight.

_So willing to die, _Stearcwyn thought. _We are all so willing to go to our doom. _

They stopped for the midday meal at an abandoned war camp on the edge of the Druadan forest. They were a quiet group, each of them anticipating, with dread on some parts, the upcoming battle.

"Take heart Merry," Éowyn said to the Halfling to cheer him up. "It will soon be over."

"But to what end?" Stearcwyn asked. Éowyn seemed to have no answer to this, for she fell silent, eating her bread with a troubled expression. When the call to move again came, all three of them stood up gratefully.

oOoOo

It took them two more days to reach Minas Tirith, and the sight of it made Stearcwyn gasp in awe. The city itself was built into the very mountain, the white stone seeming to blend with the peaks. On the field in front of the city, thousands of orcs were hastening to form ranks against the oncoming cavalry. King Théoden signaled for the columns to stop.

"Arise!" he called to the riders. "Arise, riders of Théoden! Spears shall be shaken, shields shall be splintered! A sword day! A red day! Ere the sun rises!" Just as he said this, a beautiful ray of the sun broken through the thick black clouds, bathing the column in a golden glow.

"We must stay together if we can," Stearcwyn whispered urgently to Éowyn and Merry, who rode on Éowyn's horse with her. They both nodded, their eyes terrified, their mouths set in determination.

"Ride now!" Théoden cried. "Ride! Ride for ruin, and the world's ending!" He raised his great sword in the air, and it glinted in the sun. "Forth Eorlingas!" He urged his horse forward, and the rest of the cavalry followed. Stearcwyn pushed Indryhten into a gallop as the men did the same. Time seemed to slow down for her, and she could feel everything at once: her heart beating in her chest; the blood rushing in her ears; the terrible fear and determination that gripped her whole body. She could hear the sounds of various war cries, the sound of them weighing heavily on her ear drums. When she collided with the orc column, time caught up with her, and the sounds of battle replaced the war cries.

She sliced through orc after orc, her old wound giving her minor troubles as she did so. She could see out the corner of her eye that Merry and Éowyn were doing the same, but she could only catch glimpses of them at a time before she was distracted again. Indryhten plunged forward, the spike on his breast plate skewering more than one foe. When the orcs began to retreat towards the river, it seemed that they were victorious, but when she looked to where they were running, Stearcwyn felt her blood run cold.

The men from the east had arrived, and their oliphaunts were now bearing down upon them with merciless speed. Death seemed to follow them in a palpable shadow, roiling black and angry in their wake. As Théoden called for his cavalry to rally to him, Stearcwyn spun Indryhten around, searching for Éowyn and Merry, but they were nowhere to be found. Setting her mouth in grim determination, she steered Indryhten to join the rest of the riders, facing the oliphaunts, preparing herself mentally for what could be her last battle.


	6. Chapter 6

The oliphaunts carved a devastating swath through the ranks, plowing down many horses, along with their riders. Stearcwyn steered Indryhten through the legs of the huge beasts, trying her best to keep him from harm. When it was clear that she could not maneuver the great horse through the tight turns, she jumped off and slapped his rump, sending him running towards the river and away from danger. Hearing a familiar voice yelling loudly, she whipped around to see Beorn fighting off a particularly nasty bunch of orcs. With a shout of her own, she jumped into the fray, cutting down as many orcs and she could reach. Beorn spun around, ready to attack her as well, but she blocked his swing, and he stared at her in amazement.

"Stearcwyn?" he marveled.

"Yes, now fight!" she shouted, cutting down an orc that had raised its sword to Beorn's back. Beorn seemed to snap out of his amazement enough to kill several more before a new, different attack came.

The oliphaunts were not the only ones that were devastating the cavalry; the men riding upon their backs were doing terrible damage as well. With their bow and arrows, they took down many of the Rohirric riders and their horses, creating a huge dent in the number of fighters. One of these men shot an arrow in Stearcwyn's direction, but she was fighting an orc, and her back was turned, exposing her completely to the arrow's deadly path. Beorn, seeing this, gave a shout of panic and shoved Stearcwyn roughly out of the way, and she remained unharmed. Instead of hitting its intended target, the arrow buried itself deep in Beorn's side, missing his ribs, heart, and lungs by a mere matter of inches.

"No!" Stearcwyn screamed as she saw Beorn drop to his knees. She killed the orc she was battling and dropped her sword, rushing to Beorn's side. Picking up his head gently, she cradled it in her lap, the tears from her eyes spilling onto Beorn's face. "Do not die," she pleaded in a terrified voice. "Please, do not die." She looked about the battleground frantically, searching for someone who could help her. As she watched, a strange green cloud seemed to be moving across the field, wiping out the orcs as it went. As it drew closer, Stearcwyn could discern, through her tears, the faces of many men, all in various forms of decay, and all twisted into fierce expressions. They annihilated the orc army in a matter of seconds, moving to sweep through the city. Stearcwyn ripped her gaze away from this entrancing sight when Beorn let out a moan of pain. "Please do not die," she repeated in a whisper.

"Stearcwyn," he murmured, reaching up with a shaking hand to brush her cheek. His hand fell from her cheek, and his eyes closed, but Stearcwyn could still detect breath in his lungs and a pulse in his veins. Still, her tears fell thicker and faster than before, wetting his ebony-black beard.

"We must get him to the city." The voice, unfamiliar to her ears, came from in front of her, and when she looked up, she saw that it belonged to a man that looked much like Beorn, except that his eyes were lighter, less warm. Beside him stood Legolas, the elvish prince whom Stearcwyn had spoken to briefly during her stay at Edoras.

"Who are you?" she demanded as the man and the elf lifted Beorn with ease.

"I am his brother. Are you coming with us?" Startled, Stearcwyn simply nodded.

"You will save him?" she asked anxiously, gripping Beorn's cold hand.

"I will try my best," he promised.

"What is your name?" she asked as they set Beorn down, merely to distract herself from how pale and sickly he looked.

"Beran," he said shortly. He gripped the shaft of the arrow tightly and snapped the head off before yanking swiftly to pull the arrow out of his brother's side. Beorn grunted in pain and his eyes fluttered open briefly before sliding closed again.

"Please do not die, Beorn," Stearcwyn whispered urgently. Taking one of his hands in both of hers, she kissed it tenderly. "Please do not die. I love you." Even as she said it she knew it was true. The fluttering in he stomach she felt when he was near, the thrill of pleasure that ran down the length of her spine when he spoke could only be accounted to love; the deep-seated, aching, full love that could only be heard about in epic, romantic ballads read by traveling bards. She knew now, as she looked down at the handsome, kind, caring man who lay injured before her, that the infatuation she had felt for Eomér was merely that: a small, fleeting feeling of romance she had felt for the man who had saved her life. It was to be expected, perhaps, but all thoughts of that particular mistake were driven swiftly from her mind, to be replaced by a fulfilling, lovely new feeling. "I love you," she whispered again.

"And I you," he murmured, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He had loved her since he had first seen her, when they had found her, near death, on the plains of the Westemnet. It was he who had been the most concerned, seeking out Eomér to ask after her wellbeing when he was treating her wound; he who had volunteered to share his saddle with her, when it was barely comfortable for him alone. All for the love of this gorgeous young woman.

"He will live," Beran announced finally, after nearly half an hour of bating their breath, hoping beyond hope that he survive. But he slept peacefully now, a beatific smile lighting his features as he held Stearcwyn's hand with as much strength and love as he could muster.

"He will live," Stearcwyn repeated in a murmur, tears of joy and relief coursing down her cheeks. _He will live._ Kissing his rough, bearded cheek, she smiled for the first time since she left the camp at Dunharrow.

**A/N: I just couldn't stop writing this, I was so caught up in the story! It's like it took on a life of its own. Anyways, I hope you all like it.**

**What happens to Indryhten will be explained further in the next chapter. Sorry to keep you horse lovers on your toes! )**

**_Beran_ means bear, just so you know.**


	7. Chapter 7

It was not even two full days before the remaining riders, led by Aragorn, departed for the final battle at Mordor. Beorn protested heavily at remaining behind, but he was in no condition to move more than a few steps unaided, let alone ride into a fight. Stearcwyn found Beorn at his window the day the men left, staring moodily at the dark path the cavalry was making across the battle-scarred field.

"What is it?" she asked gently, standing beside him. Even though they were not touching, Stearcwyn felt her skin tingle from such close proximity.

"I want to fight," Beorn answered mournfully.

"You cannot." She was very stern about this. "With your wound you would not last but a minute." Suddenly he laughed, gripping his side as he did so. "What?" she demanded, highly affronted.

"Not two months ago I spoke those very same words to you, at Helm's Deep. Do you remember?" His eyes grew very soft as he looked at her, recalling how fierce and adamant she looked; his beautiful warrior.

"Yes," she said softly, looking into his fathomless eyes. "I remember." He looked down at her as if contemplating something, then slowly leaned in until his forehead was resting against hers. His eyes sought her permission, and, when she offered no resistance, he brought his lips down to meet hers.

This kiss was very different from the one that she had shared with Eomér. While that one had felt heated and frenzied, this one was slow, sensual, and felt utterly _right._ Beorn pulled back for a fraction of a moment.

"Will you be my wife?" he breathed, looking deep into her bottomless amber eyes.

"Yes," she whispered without a moment's hesitation, for she knew that it was what she was meant to be; his wife. "Yes, I will." Smiling widely, he kissed her again, this one deeper, hungrier. When they pulled apart, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close, resting his head on top of hers and enjoying the view from where he stood.

oOoOo

It was nearly a week before the men returned, and it was a joyous affair when they did, for the Ring of Power was destroyed, and the Ringbearer found alive. The coronation for Aragorn as the king of Gondor was scheduled and the whole city was thrown into a flurry of preparation. It was during these preparations that Stearcwyn met Lothíriel for the first time.

Stearcwyn was helping clean out the little-used banquet room, carrying large stacks of tablecloths, when she accidentally bumped into somebody. They both fell to the ground, scattering tablecloths everywhere.

"I am so sorry!" Stearcwyn cried, scrambling to pick up the fallen cloths, for she could see that this lady was of noble birth. She was Elven-fair, with long ebony colored hair that fell to just above her slender waist, and stormy the color of a balmy ocean. "Are you alright, m'lady?"

"Perfectly fine," the lady said graciously, helping Stearcwyn to pick up the scattered table linens. "What is your name?" she asked curiously.

"Stearcwyn, m'lady." Stearcwyn stood up and dipped a curtsy as best she could with her arms full of linens.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Stearcwyn." The lady smiled prettily, then turned at the sound of approaching footsteps.

"There you are." The voice sounded happy to see the lady, and it also sounded very familiar to Stearcwyn, who hurriedly, and foolishly, stepped behind a pillar under the pretense of picking up a stray linen.

"Eomér!" the lady cried joyously. "Have you met-" She cut herself off, sounding confused. "Stearcwyn?" she called, looking around.

"Yes, m'lady?" Stearcwyn asked with dread, stepping out from behind her pillar, holding the linens to cover her face, not a hard task, as the pile was quite large.

"Stearcwyn?" Eomér asked, a strange note in his voice. "Is that you."

"Yes, m'lord," Stearcwyn said quietly, still not looking from behind the linens. She knew she did not love him anymore, but it was still rather awkward.

"I have not seen you since camp," he said cautiously. "Why are you here?"

Deciding it best not to lie, Stearcwyn told him the truth. "I was in the battle, m'lord." She heard Eomér's sharp intake of breath. "Excuse me." Stearcwyn bobbed a curtsy again and left quickly, taking the linens to the banquet hall.

"You know her?" the lady asked as Stearcwyn retreated. Stearcwyn knew that this lady could only be Lothíriel, the princess of elven descent who was to marry Eomér. She knew that she should not dwell on this, so she shoved the encounter to the back of her mind and continued to lay the tablecloths on the long tables set out in the banquet hall, preparing for the huge feast planned for the next night.

oOoOo

The coronation was a merry affair, as was to be expected. Gondor had not had a king for many generations, so the crowning of a new one was cause for celebration. Stearcwyn was reunited with Éowyn, and it was a joyous occasion. Stearcwyn was introduced to Faramir, the youngest son of the former steward of Gondor. Éowyn would admit nothing, but from the starry look in her eyes, Stearcwyn knew that it was only a matter of time before the two would be married.

Beorn was always by Stearcwyn's side now, a constant, comforting presence that Stearcwyn was enormously grateful for. When the nightmares plagued her she knew that Beorn was just in the next room to comfort her if need be. He stood beside her throughout the ceremony, his hand resting lightly at the small of her back when it was possible. Even this light of a touch sent her heart careening against her ribcage in the most pleasant way imaginable.

After the excitement of the coronation was over, and Beorn and Stearcwyn had traveled back to Edoras, another coronation was to be arranged. For King Théoden, the beloved monarch of Rohan, had perished in the battled, leaving Eomér, as his only heir, to take the throne. The day after they had arrived at Edoras, Eomér had taken Beorn aside, and Beorn told her about the encounter later in the stables, where she was tending to Indryhten.

"He has asked me to be personal advisor to the throne," Beorn beamed. His newly acquired beard covered his mouth, but Stearcwyn could see it lift at the corners when he smiled with pride and a deepseated loyalty to Rohan, and Eomér.

"That is wonderful," she smiled, putting her arms around his neck. He leaned down to kiss her, but his beard tickled her face, and she pulled away, laughing. "But your beard is not. It must go." His expression grew slightly wounded as he fingered the curly black hair on his chin, but he agreed. Then, smiling mischievously, he grabbed Stearcwyn's waist so she could not escape and bent down again, running his whiskers up and down her neck and across her face. Shrieking with laughter, Stearcwyn tried to struggle away, but it was no use. Finally, unable to stand anymore, as her knees had gone weak with laughing, she sagged against Beorn. He picked her up easily. This time, when he tried to kiss her, she did not protest, though she giggled slightly as his beard tickled her nose. She snuggled her head to his chest and wrapped her arms securely around his neck. He carried her to a pile of fragrant hay and sat down in it, cradling her in his arms as she fell asleep. He carried her back to her rooms later that evening, and, as he left, he could not help but think how lucky he was to have such a brave, noble, strong wife-to-be.


	8. Epilogue

The sky was a brilliant, cloudless blue, the sun shining out of it to touch the land in a warm benediction. A small cluster of children played on the outskirts of the village, chasing after a ball. One of the children, a small girl with long honey-colored hair, fell behind when a little white flower caught her eye. Seeming to sense that she was no longer with the group, a young boy with similarly colored hair turned around to go back to her.

"Cyrtenes!" the boy called as he loped up to her. "What are you doing?"

"Is this flower not lovely?" she breathed, holding out the specimen for her brother to see.

"Yes, it is. Now come play with us."

"I do not want to," Cyrtenes said adamantly, sitting down on the soft grass and folding her arms.

"Come along!" the boy shouted, stamping his foot. Hearing the commotion, one of the older girls came running up to them.

"What are you shouting about, Gyrretan?" she asked in exasperation.

"Ấrian," the boy complained, "tell Cyrtenes to come play with us!"

"If she does not wish to play with you, then she does not have to." Ấrian's voice was patient, as if she were talking to a toddler, rather than her ten year old brother.

"I will tell father," Gyrretan warned Cyrtenes.

"I will tell father that you are bossing me!" Cyrtenes countered, sticking her tongue.

"Do not do that," Ấrian reprimanded Cyrtenes gently. "It is not ladylike."

"You must to do as I say." Gyrretan stamped his foot impatiently.

"Why?" Cyrtenes taunted.

"I am older than you." His voice was certain and triumphant.

"You are older than me by three minutes. Mother says that you are not old enough to be bossy." The little girl stuck her tongue out at her twin again. Gyrretan's face was turning crimson as the blood rushed to his cheek in anger. Without warning, his hand lashed out and struck his sister's cheek, leaving a red mark on her pale skin. Cyrtenes stared at him in shock for a moment, as did Ấrian. Then she burst into tears and ran back to the village, her honey hair flying behind her. Ấrian grabbed Gyrretan by the arm roughly and dragged him after their sister, ignoring his protests.

When they reached the compound, their sister was already in the Main Hall, her face buried in their father's shoulder.

"What happened?" their father, Beorn, asked his eldest daughter quietly.

"Gyrretan," she shot a murderous glance at the boy, "was trying to get Cyrtenes to play. When she did not, he slapped her."

"Is that what happened son?" Beorn's voice was not angry, merely low and rather dangerous.

"Yes father." Gyrretan shuffled his feet and looked down at the floor ashamedly.

"You will clean out Indryhten's stall for two weeks, and you will go to bed without supper tonight." Beorn's voice carried a note of finality, and Gyrretan nodded without argument. "Now, Ấrian," he smiled at his eldest daughter, "please tell your mother that Beran has returned home." Ấrian smiled widely at her brother's name. Beran, named after their uncle, was her favourite out of all her brothers, and she had missed him immensely when he had left on patrol with Elfwine, the king's son. "Take your sister with you." Beorn set Cyrtenes down gently after kissing her on the cheek that her twin had slapped. Cyrtenes smiled angelically and skipped over to take her sister's hand, the offense already forgotten.

"Come, _Lufian,_ and we will tell mother that Beran is home." Cyrtenes grinned and released Ấrian's hand to run down the hall that led to the apartments that the family shared. Opening the door softly, Ấrian stepped in, her eyes adjusting to the dim light of the room.

"Ấrian, Cyrtenes, is that you?" The voice came from beside the fireplace.

"Yes mother."

"Come closer, my loves. Your presence soothes me." Ấrian stepped closer, feeling the familiar pain in her gut that she always got when she was near her mother. The scars on her once-beautiful cheeks were prominent in the ruddy glow of the cheerfully crackling fire. The eyes that had once been beautiful amber were now a blind blue, and they stared unseeingly in the direction of her daughters' approaching footsteps.

"Mummy!" Cyrtenes cried, flinging herself onto her mother's lap and hugging her knees fiercely. "Beran's home, mummy." Stearcwyn's face crinkled into a smile that transformed her scarred face back into the beautiful one that Ấrian remembered from her childhood, before the plague took her youngest brother, her older sister, and her mother's eyesight and beauty.

"Are they all home now? All five of them?"

"Yes, mother. Beran will be in to visit you shortly. Beorn, Léo, Anwynd, and Eohric are in the stables, so they will come later."

"And Coelric?" Ấrian smiled.

"Coelric is captaining the ship for the king's voyage to find the Lost Islands."

"I knew that he would be chosen!" Stearcwyn crowed, her face glowing with pride over her eldest son's accomplishment. To be the captain of one of the king's own ships, one that went to the fabled Lost Islands! And at only thirty!

Ấrian was still in the room when, ten minutes later, all five of her older brothers, and Gyrretan, entered the chamber.

"Come here my boys." Stearcwyn held out her arms to gather her grown sons to her. All five of them gathered around their mother protectively, drawing their three younger siblings into the circle of warmth as well.

"How are you mother?" Andwynd asked cheerfully, trying to keep his happy façade from cracking. He knew that his siblings felt the same way; seeing their beautiful mother like this was heartbreaking.

"I am wonderful, now that I have all my babies with me. All but three." Her face clouded slightly as she thought of her three missing children, one traveling, and two dead. She knew that the ache of missing them would never subside, but as long as she had her family, she would be content.

**A/N: Thank you so much for sticking with my story, even when the first edition kind of sucked. Thank you!**

**Ấrian: (I actually don't remember P)**

**Cyrtenes: Beauty**

**Gyrretan: With lions**

**Lufian: Cherished**

**Léo: Lion**

**Anwynd: One winding**

**Eohric: Horse ruler**

**Coelric: Ship ruler**


End file.
